


Photographic Evidence

by Itsallfine



Series: Watch What They Photograph [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Photographs, Sexting, Texting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallfine/pseuds/Itsallfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph.” —  Unknown</p><p>John needs a bit of coaxing to believe he isn't just seeing what he wants to see, and Sherlock is only too happy to provide additional evidence.</p><p>This is the third and final installment in the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/254707">Watch What They Photograph series</a>. While I think this can mostly stand alone, it is best enjoyed in full context. The other two stories are only about 2k words each.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photographic Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I made y'all wait so long for this final story. It took me several tries to get going on the right track, but we're finally here! I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> A thousand thanks to my army of betas who helped polish this story and caught my stupid mistakes: 57circlesofhell, hudders-and-hiddles, cakepopsforeveryone, hubblegleeflower, and monikakrasnorada.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).
> 
> EDIT: Now with fan art! Links in the end notes to avoid spoilers.

 

John’s head fell back against the pillow, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Alcohol, darkness, and heady arousal were a perfect storm that sent the room spinning, filled his head with cotton, made his breath hitch in an odd rhythm. But through the haze, one single thought rang clear:  
  
_John Watson, you are an idiot._  
  
He’d done the right thing. He knew he had. He was drunk, or close enough to it. Possibly drunk enough to have fuzzy recollections. John could never forgive himself if the memory of his first kiss with Sherlock was anything less than perfectly crystal clear. He’d had to back off for the night. It was the correct choice.  
  
It was a terrible fucking choice.  
  
Sherlock’s fingers had been warm under his, the phone pressed between their palms. John’s tongue had darted out, wet his lips, the precursor to a kiss that he still couldn’t truly believe was coming. His eyes had darted down to Sherlock’s hesitantly smiling lips— _allowed now?_ —then back up to Sherlock’s eyes.  
  
_It’s you. It’s always you, John Watson,_ he’d said. Surely that was completely clear, in the context of the photos, of their stilted conversation. Surely that meant they were on the same page.  
  
Right?  
  
John fumbled in his pocket for his phone, swiped to unlock it. The photo album was still open to the picture of Sherlock on the night of the scotch, his heated gaze nearly a physical thing even on a tiny phone screen. The thrill of arousal burned through John, and he closed the photo album with a tiny huffed exhalation. He brought up a new text message. Hesitated.  
  
_I’m not misunderstanding things, right?_  
  
The reply came back almost instantly.  
  
_You often do, but it depends on what you think you understand. -SH_  
  
John rolled his eyes, but a second message popped up almost immediately.  
  
_I liked your photos. -SH_  
  
_Of course you did, they’re all of you. You’ve always been your own biggest fan._  
  
_Wrong. -SH_  
_It’s always been you. Right from the start. -SH_  
  
A small smile pulled at the corner of John’s mouth. It was a dig at his over-romanticized blog posts, but he heard the truth in the echo of Sherlock’s earlier words. He smiled for real then, and went for it. Full honesty, no filters, everything in plain view.  
  
_Yes. Since the very first case._  
_I liked your photos too._  
  
_They weren’t too … much? A bit not good? -SH_  
  
_They were a lot good._  
  
John licked his lips and hesitated. There was one thing he still needed to know. Yes, they were both obsessed enough to have phones filled with photos of each other. There were feelings of some kind between them, and a physical connection, one almost-kiss … but that didn’t mean Sherlock wanted something more, something physical. _In for a penny …_ he thought, and sent another message before he could lose his nerve.  
  
_I don’t really know what we’re doing. I don’t know what you want._  
_But I like that you were looking so closely._  
_Is that okay?_  
  
The answer was nearly instant.  
  
_Yes. -SH_  
_Very okay. -SH_  
_I wish you hadn’t stopped us tonight. -SH_  
  
John’s eyes fell shut, a thrill of want shooting straight to the pit of his stomach. He very nearly groaned aloud and felt himself start to harden.  
  
_God, I didn’t want to stop. I really didn’t._  
_But I want to remember being with you for the first time with perfect clarity._  
_Besides, I wouldn’t want the alcohol to affect my … performance._  
  
The reply was a bit slower in coming, and John took the opportunity to pull up the photo of Sherlock on the night of the scotch, his eyes hot and wanting. He imagined those eyes looking over from the pillow beside him. Or from underneath him, tracing down his body ...  
  
John’s text alert chimed.  
  
_Your performance would be unaffected. You’re hard in your trousers right now. -SH_  
  
And that’s all it took—bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy.  
  
_Don’t try to deny it. -SH_  
  
John chuckled.  
  
_Wasn’t going to. I can’t help it._  
  
_Show me. -SH_  
  
That knocked the breath right out of him. Did Sherlock mean …  
  
_You want a photo?_  
  
_I do hate to theorize without evidence. -SH_  
  
John gave a shuddering exhale. Could he really …? He looked down at the noticeable bulge in his trousers, then flicked his phone over to camera mode before he could change his mind. A click, and there it was, all the evidence Sherlock would need of John’s want. But the photo itself was rather unappealing; too dark, badly framed, certainly not showing him off at his best.  
  
After a moment of struggling, John managed to strip out of his button down and vest. Socks and shoes followed, and he arranged his legs so his right foot was planted flat on the bed while his other leg lay flat, bent at the knee. Finally, John hooked his thumb in the waistband of his trousers, letting his fingers lay close to, but not touching, his now fully-hard erection. He held the camera higher this time, getting more of his legs and bare stomach in the shot, and took the photo. The blood surged between his legs at the feel of _performing_ for the camera, at the thought of Sherlock getting hard himself, perhaps palming his own erection as he studied the photo.  
  
He hit ‘send’.  
  
As soon as the photo left his outbox, John let his fingers drift closer to his tented erection, refusing to allow the panic threatening at the edges of his mind to take hold. He stroked his thumb over the tip and closed his eyes, imagining Sherlock’s hand, his _mouth, God_ —  
  
The text alert interrupted. Twice.  
  
John nearly dropped the phone in his haste to unlock it. When he did, he stopped breathing entirely.  
  
Sherlock had removed his trousers, leaving him only in tight black boxer briefs that clearly showed the long lines of his impressive erection.  His hand was tucked inside the waistband so only his thumb was visible, resting over the faint trail of hair on his abdomen. His torso, his stomach, his legs, his cock—everything about Sherlock was lean and hard and utterly delicious.  
  
With a start, John realized he was getting close to the edge, had been rubbing himself through his trousers in earnest without thinking as he studied the photo. He tucked his free hand behind his head to restrain himself, swiped to the second picture message, and nearly lost it all over again. His cock jerked inside his pants, and he couldn’t help but groan at the exquisite image of Sherlock’s perfect bow mouth wrapped around two of his own fingers, his cheeks and long neck flushed. His eyes were cropped out of the photo, but John imagined them squeezed shut in pleasure as Sherlock worked his tongue over his long, dexterous fingers.    
  
John had to reply, had to let Sherlock know that his photos were—  
  
_Brilliant. Amazing. God, Sherlock, what you do to me…_  
_You’re gorgeous_  
_I want that mouth on me so badly_  
  
_Show me. -SH_  
  
John didn’t even hesitate. He stripped out of his trousers and pants and gave himself a few teasing strokes, thinking back to Sherlock’s original photos of him. He likes close up detail, so ...  
  
John pulled his bottle of lube from the bedside table and slicked himself up. A few long, tight strokes was all it took to produce a perfect bead of pre-come at his tip. He pulled his foreskin partially back, lined up the shot, and thanked his new phone’s excellent camera for its aptitude in up-close photography as he snapped the photo. Then another, because he couldn’t resist running his thumb over the slit, spreading the slickness around in a way that sent a jolt straight to his balls. One last photo, difficult to frame, but the thrill of smearing his thumb across his lip, letting his tongue dart out to taste the bitterness, was too dirty and hot to pass up. He sent all three photos, then had to lie on his hand once again to keep himself from finishing right then and there. He wanted more, wanted to see how far Sherlock would take it before he let himself come.  
  
He got his answer almost immediately. A photo, taken from over Sherlock’s shoulder as he lay on his front, his perfect round arse on display and a pillow under his hips. Then another photo: same position, but with a bottle of lube on the bed next to his hip and the fingers of one hand disappearing …  
  
John gripped the base of his cock hard to keep himself from coming, groaning so loud Sherlock could probably hear it downstairs. With his clean hand, he tapped out a brief message, his brain unable to manage more than a few words.  
  
_So you like…_  
  
_I’ve got three fingers inside myself right now, though I’d much prefer you. -SH_  
  
John exhaled sharply, keeping his hold at the base of his cock. Sherlock’s photos were the best kind of torture, but his arousal was quickly reaching the point of physical pain.  
  
_God, I want that so bad, Sherlock. Want you so much._  
_You’re so gorgeous. I can’t wait to be with you like that._  
  
_Have you sobered up yet? -SH_  
  
With a jolt, John realized that he was, in fact, completely clear-headed. The intense arousal and focus had burned away the last of his mental fog, leaving him perfectly cognizant.  
  
_Actually … yes._  
  
_Good. -SH_  
  
The text alert sounded for another picture message: a dark, grainy photo of a barely-visible door knob. John’s eyes widened and darted to the crack at the bottom of his bedroom door, where he could see the shadow of someone standing just outside. He was on his feet and at the door in an instant.  
  
On the other side stood Sherlock Holmes, naked but for his blue dressing gown, a flush staining his cheeks and chest, his phone in one hand—and his rock-hard cock in the other.  
  
“John …” he said, his voice gravelly and low, completely _wrecked_. Somehow John had been imagining Sherlock as cool and calm in his wickedness, tempting and torturing John while remaining aloof himself. Faced with the reality, John felt a surge of warmth, of utter _relief_.  
  
“God, Sherlock,” he said, and reached out, cradling Sherlock’s face in both hands. He brought their foreheads together and just breathed, nuzzled against Sherlock’s cheek and nose, let the hot rush of feeling in his chest pour through him.  
  
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered into the space between their lips. “Do you know? Do you understand? God, I’m so in love with you, Sherlock.”  
  
Sherlock’s breath rushed out across John’s lips, and his arms slid around John’s waist to pull them flush together. He leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing across John’s—not even a kiss, only a faint contact, just enough so that John felt it when Sherlock whispered back: “I love you, John.”  
  
With a wild grin, John surged forward, and then Sherlock’s lips were sliding on his, warm and pliant and connected by a live wire to the rush in the center of his chest. He kissed Sherlock through a huff of laughter, twining his fingers in those outrageous curls, and letting the kiss turn filthy when a hitch of John’s hips brought their cocks sliding together. Their tongues twined together, the taste of him, G _od_ , it was so good, too good. They broke off without backing away, breathing harshly into each other’s mouths, glued together at the forehead and hip.  
  
“I showed you what I want, John,” Sherlock gasped, his hand sliding up into John’s hair. “Will you? Can we?”  
  
John groaned, and his hands slid down, digging into Sherlock’s sharp hip bones. “We don’t have to … this first time, we can just … ”  
  
“I want it, John. This is what I do when I get myself off. When I’m thinking about you.”  
  
John’s brain stuttered to a stop.  
  
“So, you own a …”   
  
“Yes. But I’d much prefer you.”  
  
John couldn’t help but laugh at that, and tipped his forehead against Sherlock’s. “The feeling is mutual, trust me.” His hands moved from hips to arse, pulling Sherlock even closer and claiming his mouth once more. Sherlock writhed against him, sliding farther down the wall to reduce their height difference, which made it all too easy for John to reach behind and dip two fingers just inside Sherlock’s relaxed, slick entrance. His cock throbbed with the force of his want, feeling how open Sherlock was, knowing it was for him, that Sherlock had done it _himself_ while thinking of him.  
  
“God help me, this is going to be quick,” John said, pulling back to look into Sherlock’s eyes. “Let me take you to bed?”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes filled with heat, and his lips quirked into a tiny, private smile. “Oh, God, yes.”  
  
They tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and dressing gown, their mouths locked together in a rough kiss. Sherlock grabbed John by the hips and rolled so John was on top, Sherlock’s long legs wrapped around his waist. The maneuver brought John’s cock right up against Sherlock’s entrance, the bare tip sliding on the still-wet lube, dipping just barely inside. John’s breath went out of him in a rush, his instincts warring with his common sense.  
  
“Sherlock, we need—I have condoms in the drawer …”  
  
The legs around John’s waist tightened, stopping him from reaching for the bedside table.  
  
“You get tested before every long-term relationship and are meticulous about using protection otherwise. Your last results were clean, and you’ve been abstinent since. I was tested as part of my last … rehab program. I haven’t been with anyone since then. Please, John.” Sherlock canted his hips up, rubbing his entrance over the tip of John’s cock.  
  
John’s resolve never stood a chance. He scrambled for the lube that still lay on the bed from his earlier modeling and slicked himself back up. Even with Sherlock writhing below him, trying to nudge himself down onto John’s cock, John couldn’t help but dip two lubed fingers inside, spreading more slickness and feeling the delicious heat. Sherlock whined, actually _whined_ , and pushed himself down on John’s fingers.  
  
“Damn it, John,” Sherlock said, breathless, and wrapped one hand around the back of John’s neck. He pulled John down so their foreheads were touching and closed his eyes. “Please don’t make me wait any longer,” he whispered.  
  
John’s heart gave a painful lurch. He had been waiting for so long. They both had. They needed this. John pressed a sweet kiss to Sherlock’s lips, soft and lingering, then lined himself up with Sherlock’s entrance and finally pushed his way into Sherlock’s welcoming heat.  
  
Sherlock melted beneath him, relaxing against the intrusion and bearing down. He was obviously … experienced, used to such girth, but John still went slow, easing himself in with several long, slow pushes. John huffed a deep breath as he felt himself slide home, in to the hilt, completely surrounded by Sherlock. He dropped his forehead to Sherlock’s shoulder and breathed deep, pressing a kiss there and holding himself perfectly still. There’d been so much lead up, so much teasing, and John had been so hard already. It was all he could do to not bury himself once, twice, and fill Sherlock up.  
  
Sherlock’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled John’s head against his mouth. “I’m ready,” Sherlock murmured, his lips brushing against John’s temple. He gave a sensuous roll of his long torso and hips, rubbing himself all along John’s length, and John groaned into Sherlock’s shoulder. He lifted himself up and onto his knees so he could see Sherlock laid out beneath him, all beautiful skin and wanting eyes. John tucked one hand up under Sherlock’s thigh and gripped his hip with the other, then slid himself out and back in with one long roll. They both groaned, loud, then locked eyes and burst into giggles. John looked down at the point where their bodies were joined and his mirth died away immediately.  
  
“Oh, God, Sherlock, you should see this,” he said, rolling his hips again so he could watch his cock disappear inside Sherlock’s body. The sight and sensation combined were almost too much, and he closed his eyes to fight back the rising burn.  
  
“Show me,” Sherlock gasped.  
  
“What?” John opened his eyes and met Sherlock’s clear blue gaze.  
  
“Show me.”  
  
John grinned wickedly as understanding dawned on him. “Pass me my phone,” he said, and Sherlock pressed it into John’s unlubed hand with a rumbling chuckle. John had to pause in his short, rocking thrusts to get the shot, then resumed as he indulged with a few more photos of Sherlock laid out across the bed, his arms thrown above his head in a tangle. He scrolled back to the photo of their joined bodies, then tossed it face-up onto Sherlock’s chest and began fucking him in earnest.  
  
“Look at it,” he ordered, and reached down to stroke Sherlock’s cock in time with his thrusts. “Look at how fucking hot we are together. Look how this is finally happening.”  
  
Sherlock gave a breathless moan and bore down on John’s cock, scrabbling for the phone with one hand. His eyes flew shut as John changed the angle and hit the perfect spot, then again, and again, and Sherlock could only hang onto the bed with his free hand and ride it out, chanting John’s name over and over.  
  
“Look at the photo,” John ordered again, practically a growl, and the force in his voice drove Sherlock to obey. He looked down at the phone, at the deliciously erotic sight of John’s thick cock sinking into his eager arse, and John could see it on Sherlock’s face—it was too much, too _good_ …  
  
“God, John!” Sherlock shouted, and threw the phone aside as his inner muscles clamped down around John’s cock. He spilled hot over John’s hand and arched beneath him, riding John’s cock when his thrusts grew more erratic. It was the hottest thing John had ever seen, would ever see, those long limbs writhing in ecstasy beneath him, and with a stuttering moan John followed Sherlock over the edge, spilling himself deep inside Sherlock’s body.  
  
It was intense, so powerfully good, and it took him several long moments to come back down. He met Sherlock’s eyes and his chest constricted painfully, like suffocation—God, he was so gone on this man. So in love.  
  
John pulled out as smoothly as he could and ran his hands up Sherlock’s sides, then dropped his forehead to Sherlock’s shoulder once more, their chests touching with each gasping breath. He pressed a gentling, affectionate kiss there, nuzzled into Sherlock’s sweaty curls.  
  
“Alright, love?” he murmured.  
  
John felt Sherlock smile against his neck. “Very.”  
  
As John settled in to enjoy the afterglow, he caught sight of his phone glowing on the pillow next to Sherlock, the image of their joined bodies still up on the screen. Though he was well spent, the sight still sent a spark through his stomach.  
  
“Well, Greg is going to get a very rude surprise if he decides to go snooping through my photos again,” he said, his lips curling into a smile against Sherlock’s skin.  
  
Sherlock threw an arm over John’s hip and snuggled closer, faking a pout. “So you’re saying you’re going to delete all those photos?”  
  
John barked a laugh. “Not a chance in hell.”  
  


* * *

  
  
A faint chiming intruded on John’s dreams. Once; then, when he didn’t deign to move, again. He managed a grumble, a groan, a luxurious stretch.  
  
When John finally opened his eyes, the pillow next to him was empty but for his chiming mobile. One new picture message. His morning erection gave a twitch of interest. _Christ, am I going to pop one every time I get a new picture message now?_ He unlocked the phone and brought up the photo: two cups of tea sitting side-by-side on the table downstairs. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.  
  
_Be down in a moment._  
  
After a quick trip to the loo, John ducked into the kitchen to find Sherlock at the table, sipping at his tea and nibbling on a scone that had appeared from … somewhere.  
  
“Mrs. Hudson?” John asked, snagging one for himself from the basket on the table.  
  
Sherlock hmmed an affirmative. He looked up at John over the rim of his mug with warmth and affection in his pale eyes, and something in John’s chest tightened. He set down his scone next to his mug and took Sherlock’s face in his hands, leaning down to brush his lips over Sherlock’s forehead.  
  
“Good morning,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over one sharp cheekbone. Sherlock smiled and turned his head to place a kiss in the center of John’s palm.  
  
“Morning,” he replied. “Lestrade texted a bit ago. He said something about a cold case, but I think he’s fishing for information about—” He paused, looking a bit wrong-footed. “Us.”  
  
John snorted. “He all but told me to come home and confess to you last night. Which I ended up doing, I suppose, and which worked out rather spectacularly, if I do say so myself. I think we owe him a thank you.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You text him then.”  
  
John pulled out his phone, scrolling over to the camera with a wicked grin. “I think a photo would be a more appropriate response, don’t you?”  
  
Sherlock’s look of horror was perfection. “Surely you don’t think I’m going to pose for some sort of cute coupley photo for you to send. _Surely_ even you, _especially_ you, would know better than that.”  
  
“I can send him one of the photos from last night, if you like.”  
  
A glare. “You wouldn’t.”  
  
With a cheeky grin, John pulled out his mobile and scrolled through his recent photos, ignoring the stir of heat they provoked. “Ooh, this one would be nice,” he said, flipping the phone around to show Sherlock a photo of himself, his hands twisted in the sheets above his head and his mouth open in a panting moan while John fucked him.  
  
“Oh, you—” Sherlock grabbed John around the waist and yanked him forward until John was straddling him on the kitchen chair, pressed all along his front. John’s body thrilled at being wrapped up in Sherlock once again, and he took a moment to enjoy it, to let the moment gentle their humor and fill him. He buried his nose in Sherlock’s neck and breathed in the smell of his soap and skin, felt the softness of Sherlock’s dressing gown under his fingers, pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s collarbone. Sherlock wiggled a bit in his seat, shifted uncomfortably—and the reason quickly became clear. John grinned.  
  
“How about this,” he said, pulling back to look into Sherlock’s eyes. “We’ll take one good photo of the two of us. Just one, for the blog, for family, for Mrs. Hudson to put in a bloody frame on her mantle like you know she’ll want. Then I’ll take you upstairs and suck your brains out through your cock. How’s that?”  
  
John felt the answer twitch underneath his arse. “Fine,” Sherlock said. “But don’t expect me to actually look at the camera.”  
  
“Do whatever you like, love,” John said, and held up his mobile. Sherlock pressed his nose into John’s jaw line, hiding his face. John put on his best smile for the photo, but the feel of Sherlock’s eyelashes brushing his skin made that an easy task. “Here we go then,” he said. “Three … two … one …”  
  
He snapped the photo, just as Sherlock grabbed his semi-hard cock through his trousers.  
  
“Jesus, Sherlock,” John said when he finally stopped laughing. “Warn a bloke!”  
  
Sherlock didn’t answer, just nipped him on the shoulder and leaned around to get a look at the resulting photo. It was …  
  
John was luminous, laughing with his whole face, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open in a ridiculous grin. Sherlock’s profile was to the camera, his nose buried in John’s cheek, his eyes closed. His mouth, though—his mouth was pure wicked glee, pure _Sherlock_.  
  
It was perfect.  
  
Without a word, John pulled up a new text message to Lestrade and inserted the photo. At the bottom, he added a simple message:  
  
_Thank you. - JW &SH_  
  
He hit send before he could feel too soppy and vulnerable about it, then turned to press a long kiss to Sherlock’s waiting mouth. They were quiet for a minute, until Sherlock stirred.  
  
“John?” he said, hesitant. “Text it to me too, will you?”  
  
John smiled.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
After, they retreated back up to John’s room, tripping over furniture and dressing gowns, their mobiles abandoned on the table. The screens glowed bright with identical photos until, one at a time they dimmed, then finally went dark.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this series. Through Another Lens was the first fic I ever shared with this community, and I've had such a wonderful time meeting people and sharing stories ever since. I'm taking a short break from fic writing for about a month or so to focus on original work, but I'll be back!
> 
> And until then, keep up with my trash self over at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).
> 
> FAN ART by [Johix](http://johix.tumblr.com/post/127636517910/a-commission-for-mild-lunacy-john-was-luminous) of the ending scene. Thank you so much!


End file.
